A Distant Time
by LadyLazarus9
Summary: Abandoned by her father and never knowing her mother, Tessa Jones has come to Hogwarts in the Marauders' third year. But she's more than what she seems, and it takes five years at Hogwarts and one mischievous Marauder to uncover the truth. Friendships are forged, enemies are made, and secrets are unveiled as the first war against Voldemort begins.


_**A/N: The titles of the chapters have corresponding songs, listed below. I try to incorporate music from the actual cannon era, with a little of modern as well. Enjoy!**_

_**Harry Potter (c) JK Rowling, Warner Bros., not me. **_

**Listen While You Read: **_"No Name No. 5" - Elliott Smith; "You Know My Name (Look Up the Number)" - The Beatles; "Remain Nameless" - Florence + The Machine. _

Chapter One:

No Name No. 5

It was not the most eventful of Tuesdays, thought Inspector Gwen Harvey as she nursed her tea; but she could not complain of boredom, either. Charged with the observation of those brought in to the Metropolitan Police Station in London, Inspector Harvey had several people to look after, most of them due to either be released within the day or be charged with crimes. Hers was not an enviable job, but she gave thanks she was not in charge of doling out parking tickets or directing tourists during Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace; it was embarrassing enough to wear a uniform comprised of black and white checkers, neon yellow, and a bowler hat, and the least she could do was wear it inside.

"All righ', Gwen?" said Robert Davies, her fellow guard, who was incapable of arriving on time and usually took thirty extra minutes in hic lunch hour. "Anything lively?"

"No," replied Gwen, who had been perusing a gossip magazine, and now stowed it casually in her desk drawer. "Nothing. Have a good break?"

"Yeah, sorry I'm late, m'girlfriend gets narked when I have to get back; she does anything to keep me home."

"Hm," Gwen sighed, finishing off her tea and eyeing the stack of paperwork on the corner of her desk. She was not really in the mood to pretend to be interested in Davies' latest girlfriend. She was just thinking of risking minor humiliation by pulling back out the gossip magazine when Davies hissed, "Watch it, here comes the boss!"

Gwen looked up to see Chief Inspector Spoole walking toward her, accompanied by the oddest-looking man she had ever seen. The man was very tall and thin, and old as well, dressed in a flamboyant turquoise suit. His hair, a silvery white, fell long down his back, and he wore a long white beard. A pair of crescent spectacles perched on his nose, he held an elegant cane in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

Gwen resisted the urge to stair and stood expectantly, her partner rising up beside her, his mouth hanging open blatantly.

"Inspectors Davies, Harvey, this is Mister…" Spoole, whom Gwen had always known to be rather cool and intimidating, was flustered. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name," he said apologetically to the odd man.

But the man simply smiled. "It's quite understandable, it is a very long name. I had to memorize it myself when I was a boy." He turned to the two guards. "I am Albus Dumbledore, and I am pleased to meet you both."

"Mr…Dumble-door has documentation for our little problem," said Spoole. "He's here to collect her."

"That is, Chief Inspector, if she chooses to come with me," said the old man. "I cannot force her to attend my institution, and I will make her options very clear. I may, I trust, have a word with her?"

"Certainly," said Spoole, looking pointedly at Gwen. She stepped out from behind her desk, unable to look the man in the face because of the riotous color of his suit. "Follow me, please," she said and headed down the corridor.

"Here you are, sir," said Gwen, gesturing to a door marked 5. "We thought it best, considering her age, to keep her in a solitary room. I didn't think it fitting to keep her with the criminals, as she's done nothing wrong." She made to open the door, but the man gestured for her to wait.

"I am appreciative, however I would like to ask a few questions. You see, I only received notice an hour ago and I am quite behind on the details."

"An hour?" repeated Gwen, a little dumb-founded.

"She has not been kept here long, I trust?" asked the man in concern, and Gwen understood. New Scotland Yard was not designed to house children.

"No, sir, just this morning, sir," said Gwen. "An officer telephoned in that a girl had been in Hyde Park all night. When he approached her, she claimed not to be homeless but she wouldn't give us her parents' names or an address."

"She claimed to have both?"

"Yes, sir, but she wouldn't tell us, until a few hours ago; she gave us an address in Belgravia and the name of a housekeeper. The housekeeper said the child's father had not been in touch in more than a year. The girl's been living alone all this time. She didn't even have a name to give us."

The man nodded in understanding and said, "Thank you, Inspector. I should like to speak to her now, alone."

Gwen turned the knob and let the man through the door. She had just a glimpse of the girl sitting on the cot at the far end of the tiny room; she was small for a girl of thirteen, and rather thin. When they had brought her in, she had been pale, but now she was positively white. The girl's hair was black and thick and it fell down her shoulders and back in wild waves. Her eyes were large and dark, and her face had a clamped sort of look, as though she was accustomed to keeping this neutral, rather determined expression on at all times. But her eyes were keen and they never darted but followed movements closely. She was very pretty, even for a young girl, and Gwen's heart ached a bit as she closed the door.

"Gwen? That loony in number twelve is trying to bite off his restraints again…"

With a sigh, Gwen Harvey turned from number five and drifted back to her job.

* * *

The girl in the room watched her visitor with her wide doe eyes, clenching the fabric of her jeans in her fists.

"Hello," said the man gently. "My name is Professor Dumbledore. And you are…?"

The girl did not answer, and she clenched her jaw slightly. Sweat had broken out in the fringes of hair on her forehead.

The man, obviously mistranslating her body language for fear, placated.

"I am not here to harm you, and you have done nothing wrong. In fact, if you choose, I may take you from this place."

The girl's head lifted slightly, a glimmer of something burning suddenly in her eyes. The man sat in a chair and said kindly, "What is your name?"

It was a whisper, hesitant and somehow forced, but she whispered it all the same: "Tessadora."

The man's smile broadened. "A lovely name, though rather long, no? I sympathize; my full name takes several seconds to say, you see, and is nearly impossible to get right." But the girl was still staring, still clamping her fists tightly. "Are you well, Tessadora?"

Her voice was scarcely louder this time, but desperate, and the words hissed as she forced them through her clenched teeth. "I—don't like—small places—"

"Ah," said the man, as though he understood completely and perhaps expected this answer. He stood, procured a long wooden stick from the inside of his suit jacket, and then flicked it. The briefcase he had been carrying disappeared with a small _pop _and the girl jumped slightly, too tense to allow for much reaction.

"There," said Dumbledore. "That allows me a free hand. If you'll take it, my dear, we shall be out in the open in moments." He offered her his outstretched hand, and though it seemed to take some effort for the girl to peel her own small, sweating hand from its vicious fist, she took it.

There was a sudden darkness and the frightening sensation of stretching and suffocation, and then they stood on a London street next to the river, under a tree fluttering in the gentle summer's breeze and a temperate sun.

"That is better, isn't it?" said the man, as if he, too, had been bothered by the small spaces of the police station. He sat on a nearby bench, and it was apparent that he expected Tessadora to join him. She did, looking less pale already. She was taking deep, hungry breaths, and while she still did not smile, her face seemed more open, like an opened clam.

"Now," said Dumbledore. "Do you know why I am here, why all this has happened?"

She nodded, and when she spoke it was in a clear, low, uncannily adult voice. "My father is dead."

Dumbledore sighed. "Yes, I am afraid he is. I am very sorry for your loss. I was told, however, that you had been living alone for some time."

"Yes," said Tessadora, looking straight out across the Thames. "He left just after my eleventh birthday. He wouldn't tell me where he was going. But he wrote to me, and the postage stamps were from all over the world. He wrote for a long time, and he sent money to the housekeeper. But suddenly they stopped. When the money stopped coming, the housekeeper left."

"She didn't take an interest in what was to happen to you?"

"She didn't care," said the girl. "She never stays as long as she should, and sometimes there's no food in the house. I never liked her. And yesterday morning I woke up and I—just knew, that my father was dead, I mean. And I went out for a walk and I fell asleep and then the police came."

Dumbledore nodded. "I see. I think it's only polite to tell you how I got to be here. I received a letter an hour ago from your father. Would you like to read it?"

She nodded, not appearing overly excited or anxious; she simply nodded. With his long-fingered hand, he produced a scrolled piece of paper from his jacket and handed it to her. She unrolled it calmly and read—once, twice, and again.

"_To Prof. Dumbledore: _

_My name is Augustus Duncan, and by the time you receive this I will be dead. I doubt you remember me from my days as a student, but I'm certain you remember my wife, Susanna Lynbyrne. I recall she was one of your favorites when we were students._

_I would not ask this of you if it were not extremely important, and I know I am soon to die. Susanna and I have a daughter, and the birth of whom my wife lost her life nearly 13 years ago. I know you to be aware of Susanna's uniqueness, and more importantly, keeping this uniqueness the secret. I believe my daughter has inherited Susanna's abilities, and it is for this reason that I ask you to make a place for her at your school. I admit her education to have been neglected and she is not the proper age, however, her abilities are certain. Though we have not interacted much, sir, I feel I can trust you to take care of my daughter in my absence. I also ask that you do not inform my daughter of information concerning her mother, as I have seen to it that she will understand everything in time._

_Sincerely,_

_Augustus De Winter_

Then she rolled the paper and handed it back to Dumbledore, who was looking at her with an expression between amusement and concern.

"What does he mean, about taking me to school?" she asked. "What kind of school?"

Dumbledore replied, "He is referring to the school at which I am headmaster. It is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a school for children who are special."

"Special?"

Dumbledore smiled down at her. "Don't you want to know how I could transport us to this lovely place? Or vanish my briefcase with a wave of this odd thing? Or perhaps make it appear again?"

She looked at him and said, matter-of-factly, "You're like me."

"Yes, I am," said Dumbledore, "I am a wizard. And you, my dear, are most certainly a witch."

Tessadora's brow furrowed. "It says that you knew my mother."

"I am glad to say that I did, and I am sorry to say that I did not know your father. However, knowing Susanna as well as I did, I am certain that she made a good choice in the father of her child. Now, Tessadora, it was a last wish of your father for you to attend Hogwarts, but I will not force you to go. You may decline, if you wish."

"What will happen to me if I do?"

"I suspect you shall be placed in a foster home or an orphanage; I can't be certain," said Dumbledore fairly. "At Hogwarts, you will learn to control and exercise your abilities while forging friendships and creating a future for yourself. And I would like to respect your father's wishes."

"He said I was too old."

"Yes, normally students begin at Hogwarts at eleven; however, I don't see why we cannot accommodate you at your age. Term begins September the first, which gives us several months to make up for your lack of education and allow you to enter the school as a third year with children of your same age. Is that agreeable to you?"

Tessadora nodded, some spark of excitement lit in her dark eyes.

"I am glad; well, we must return to the unfortunate police station to finalize your decision—no doubt they are utterly perplexed as to our disappearance." He stood, swinging his cane and picking up his briefcase.

"Wait," said Tessadora, and he turned to her. "My father's name was Augustus De Winter. And my mother. You said her name…was Susanna Lyn…?"

"Susanna Lynbyrne, yes," said Dumbledore kindly. The girl looked at her feet, which Dumbledore now realized were bare and white. She was like a nymph or a sprite, utterly lovely and wild.

"He never told me." She looked at Dumbledore, and clarified: "My father never told me his name, or my mother's. He called me Tessadora but I'm not sure that's even my name."

Dumbledore looked pensive. "You have read the letter from your father, so you realize I may be in violation of his wishes by telling you this: your mother was an extraordinary witch; she possessed abilities I have never seen, and beyond that she was a wonderful person. But she had enemies, people who wanted to exploit her talents. I believe it is why your father never told you about her—he didn't want you to suffer the same fate. And I agree—I recommend you choose another name to go by, neither your father's or your mother's. Both names carry far too much power, and they will do you no good until you are ready."

It was after they had returned to the station and jumped through the necessary hoops to be free of the police and Professor Dumbledore had taken Tessadora to a pub on the corner of a busy street that he handed her an envelope.

"Inside is a list of required school supplies and the key to your father's vault. I will arrange for you to stay here at the Leaky Cauldron until term begins. This inn is the entrance to Diagon Alley, where you may find Gringotts, the wizarding bank, and shops to buy your books."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, and she smiled at him. It was the first smile of hers he had witnessed, and perhaps it was her natural stoicism that made it all the more special, but it was rather radiant all the same.

"You are welcome, my dear. Tom the barman will take care of you, and I shall be back tomorrow to begin our lessons."

She agreed, and they bid each other goodbye, and then with Tessadora watching on in fascination, Professor Dumbledore turned on the spot and vanished with a _pop_.

* * *

There were no words to describe the elation she felt as she lay upon her bed in her room at the Leaky Cauldron late that night. So much had happened, and each event had carried its own emotion, that no one word could sum it all up.

She had first entered the rather dingy pub with some trepidation, which was soon eased as she was greeted warmly by the barman, Tom, who gave her lunch and then showed her how to enter Diagon Alley. She spent the next while blinking rapidly as she tried to take everything in, all the shops with their bright colors and odd merchandise, and the shoppers in their strange clothes. She was directed to Gringotts, which was altogether impressively intimidating, and after presenting the key in her envelope to a grim goblin she was escorted to her father's vault, from which she drew a bag full of money, unsure of how much would be enough for her books and supplies.

She wandered around Flourish and Blotts, entranced by the moving images on the covers, by the enchanted books that flew around the room or changed their contents; half of her found it strange and a little frightening, but to the other half, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. She left with a bag full of books almost as heavy as herself. She accumulated so many items that when she reached Madam Malkin's, the woman took pity on her and sent all of her things to the Leaky Cauldron and fitted her for some school robes for free.

By the time she reached Ollivander's Wand Shop, the afternoon was waning into evening and some shops were already closing. Pushing the door open, she was surprised to find the place vacant, though the sign read "open." She noticed the walls, lined from floor to ceiling in small, rectangular boxes, and the peculiar devices on the front desk.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Just a moment!" The call came from the corridor leading to the back. Tessadora watched as an elderly man shuffled towards her, levitating several boxes before him with a wand.

When he saw her, his wrinkled face seemed to curl upward. "Ah! I knew it was you! I saw you through the window, wandering down the street and I thought to myself, 'Could it possibly be?' I thought, perhaps not, but here you are, as lovely as ever!"

Tessadora could feel heat around her temples. "I—I'm sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else," she said earnestly, but the man shook his head vehemently.

"Oh, no, child, I most certainly have not! I would not forget a face like that, not in a hundred years. I remember all my clients and the wands that choose them, but your mother—her I remember especially well. You look very like her, but you have your father's good looks and his eyes. Yes, I remember Susan Smith. How is she, may I ask?"

Tessadora, mildly perplexed by the name he'd given as her mother, could not see the benefit of beating around the bush. "She's dead. She died giving birth to me—or so I've been told."

Ollivander sighed. "Yes, I suspected her life would be difficult. I have had only a handful of people as powerful as Susanna in my shop. Power comes with a price, even when you did not wish for it in the beginning." He looked down at her. "You're here for a wand, no? I have collected some possibilities."

It was nearly a half an hour, but when a dark, sleek wand was placed in her fingers, a sharp shock zapped up her arm, as if she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She could feel the floorboards beneath her feet vibrating; the oil lamp on the desk flickered as though a strong wind had blown through the room. She brought the swinging down as she'd been instructed and silver stars burst from the tip, stretching from one end of the room to another before they drifted like snowflakes to the floor and disappeared.

Ollivander applauded. "Lovely, my dear! Yes, yes, wonderful—rosewood, twelve and a quarter inches, rigid. Wonderful."

"Excuse me," said Tessadora, a sudden question in her mind. "But why is it that wands are needed to perform magic? I mean, I could do magic before this," she held up the wand.

"It's true, children naturally possess the ability to perform small acts of magic before they are gifted with a wand, but in order to perform more advanced magic, a wand is need to act as a conduit, between the natural magic within the witch or wizard and the expression of that magic. It's expected for one to grow out of it by your age." Ollivander looked at Tessadora. "What sort of magic can you do?"

She shrugged. "I can make things move—make them come to me, or float, or fly. I can make matches light without touching them. I can sit at the bottom of a swimming pool for a long time, without breathing, and I can make the water move without touching it. Sometimes I see things in my dreams before they happen—I saw my father die a month before it happened."

Ollivander's face had collapsed into a brooding look that made her nervous.

"Is…that bad? Is it normal?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I think it's safe to say, my dear, that you are unique, and that you always will be."

Outside Ollivander's shop, Tessadora fingered her new wand. It felt nice to hold it, but at the same time it felt as though she were carrying something extra—perhaps, something unnecessary? She planned to ask Professor Dumbledore when he came to teach her about her magic.

She turned to make her way back to the Leaky Cauldron and walked into something rather hard but giving and warm. Someone. Their foreheads collided and they made sounds of pain.

"Ah!"

"Bloody hell! Look where you're going, will you?"

"I'm sorry." Tessadora massaged her forehead, looking at the person she'd run into. It was a boy, around her same age, though she couldn't be sure. He was taller than she, but as she stood on the front step of Ollivander's shop they were level.

His face was contorted with irritation, his dark hair mussed and his blue eyes glaring. "That'll leave a bruise," he said rather sullenly.

She blinked. "I really am sorry, I was distracted. It's not too bad, is it?"

"It's nothing, all right? Blimey." This was equally as irritable, and Tessadora found it difficult to remain contrite. "You hit me, you didn't hex me."

She pursed her lips. "Not yet at least."

For a moment the annoyance on his face cleared as he looked at her, as if he was just now really seeing her. One side of his mouth twitched upward, and Tessadora was about to gift him with one of her rare smiles in return when a discordant female voice sliced the air:

"Sirius! _Sirius!_ Come, we're leaving." A woman had burst from Madam Malkin's across the street, a smaller boy trailing behind her. She was tall and broad, her hair severe and her face rigid with pride and distain. At the sound of the woman's voice, the boy's—Sirius'—face cemented back into that look of petulance, but he turned to her nonetheless.

"What are you doing?" The woman, presumably his mother, stood over them, looking down her long sharp nose at Tessadora, taking in her jumper and jeans and her favorite boots.

"Nothing, Mother," sighed Sirius in a voice that was both resigned and defiant. The woman gave Tessadora one more sweep before whirling away, her robes swishing.

"Come, I should have known not to try here; they certainly wouldn't uphold to my standards, serving Mudbloods and wizards alike—a disgrace!"

Tessadora watched as they went, feeling rather confused, and then returned to her room in the Leaky Cauldron, where she curled up on her bed fully dressed and fell asleep, exhausted.


End file.
